by Ryan Lew
She was not a dog, and she knew Justina would never treat her that way. Cato did not understand. His taste of freedom was brief, possibly bitter. Perhaps he’d been a slave so long, he no longer knew how to be a free man. Why he gave it up so quickly, so willingly.
“Tell me, Cato,” she said, “was the taste of freedom so bitter that you preferred the life of a dog instead? For how many years have you been owned? Do you even remember?”
“I have served this family well and with honor for nearly seventeen years,” Cato answered. He refolded his arms and stood a bit more erect.
Antonia shook her head. Cato was an anomaly. She didn’t understand how he could be so proud of serving a house as a slave, especially having once been free. “Why Cato? Why would anyone ever give up freedom once the taste has crossed their lips? I do not understand how a free man could possibly choose the life of a slave? Were you captured in battle? Were you devoid of property?”
“I neither owned land nor was captured in war, Antonia. My reasons for being here are my own, and you would be wise not to project your own desires onto another’s way of thinking. It is a commitment I have chosen and I am honored to fulfill. Something I am sure you would not, or could not, understand.”
Cato was right about that. She did not understand. All she felt was sorry for him. “I was born into slavery,” she said. “Both my parents were slaves under this very roof. But I ache for freedom. I don’t know how you cannot. I may have been treated with kindness in this house and provided for after my parents passed, but even though they regarded this house as their home, I long for something more.”
“It is a longing that will bear only bitter fruit, I’m afraid.”
“If you cannot understand my desires, then at least consider my role. I am forever beholden to Justina. I trust her to remind me if I were to take liberties with my station. As far as she is concerned, this is my house as well.”
“Then surely disappointment is your fate, girl. Your brother Fabricius killed a slave this very week.”
The news was unexpected, and it hit Antonia hard. She stepped back and cupped her hands to her mouth. “No,” she said shaking her head. “It can’t be true.”
“Fabricius is a soldier, Antonia. He obeys a higher order, one that has little regard for the life, or desires, of a slave.” Antonia continued to shake her head as Cato pressed on. “Open your eyes, Antonia, and understand that, lest for the grace of the gods, we will all befall a fate similar to those who hang on the cross. And now, we share a roof with the son of the slain parents.”
Antonia wanted to hear none of it. How many nights she had dreamed of Fabricius’ gentle hands caressing her arms, her thighs…her breasts. “Fabricius would never lay sword nor hand upon me,” she said without thinking. “His touch would be welcome with open heart, and I believe he feels the same.”
Cato frowned. “If that were the case, he could take you whenever he wanted, as is his right. He may be a gentleman, but he is still Roman. Those dreams need be replaced with reality.”
Antonia was unable to hide her shock.
Cato looked down at her. There was pity in his eyes. He placed a hand on her arm. “I fear for you, Antonia. Still, my advice and guidance is here to help if you choose to take it. I pray you will strive to make wiser choices. If the day comes when you are shown real Roman law for slaves, I will not be able to help you. Now, wash up and help prepare dinner for our masters.”
Chapter 10
Dinner would not be enjoyable this evening. Not dressed as she was. It wasn’t bad enough Lucilius was staying with them, but now she was forced to wear these silly robes and decorate herself with feathers and jewels. It was embarrassing. Still, Justina didn’t want to upset her mother so she did as she was told and transformed herself into a “proper Roman woman.”
Justina was the last to arrive, being in no hurry to come to dinner. By the glare she received as she took her seat, her mother was not pleased by her tardiness. It didn’t help that she had to sit beside her. At least having Fabricius on her other side would help balance things a bit. Herminius, who was seated across from Alba, smiled at his sister. She smiled back, but her mood changed when she saw Atilius and Lucilius next to him. Sitting at the head of the table was Livius. He raised his eyebrows at his daughter, then smiled when she mouthed an apology.
Cato and another house slave stood in opposing corners as other slaves brought out the main entrée of boar, along with bowls of fruit, nuts, bread, and jugs of wine. Everyone began to eat. Everyone that is, except Lucilius. He seemed to have no appetite but was looking down, moving the food around his plate.
Alba noticed. “Is all well, Lucilius?”
Lucilius looked up at Alba. “Yes, of course. It is just that, well, family dinners at my house were seldom shared by all of us. This is a genuine pleasure, and I am humbled to be a part of it. Blessings to all who dine here.”
“You are kind, dear Lucilius. But it is we who are honored to have you,” Alba said and gave him a motherly smile.
Justina was touched at Lucilius’ show of emotion. She couldn’t image what it must have been like to find your parents slaughtered, to arrive home and find their butchered bodies. Despite herself, her heart went out to him. That is, until she saw the distasteful face he made when a slave bent by him to place a bowl of fruit on the table.
Her father must have noticed it too. “Until the day comes when you can stand on your own,” Livius said, drawing Lucilius’ attention, “we are steadfast in seeing to your comfort and sustenance.”
Lucilius smiled shyly, then turned unexpectedly and addressed Justina. “Your bosom must swell with pride sitting next to a man who embodies the protections of Rome.” Justina ignored Lucilius, but it did not stop him. “It was a swift and true thrust that avenged my parents,” he said to Fabricius, “spilling the blood of miscreants. This is the reason I joined the Roman army,” he turned to Atilius, “and look forward to Atilius’ commitment to arms in the near future.”
Atilius smiled brightly. Justina was quickly losing her appetite as well.
“Fabricius did as he was commanded,” Livius added. “Which is all that can be asked of a soldier.”
“Indeed!” said Lucilius. “But it begs the question why we would even allow slaves to exist in the first place? In my house, slaves will be shackled. Unchained only to do as I command.”
Justina’s face turned as red as the pomegranates in the bowl in front of her. Fabricius put his hand on her leg and squeezed it. The touch startled her and brought her attention away from the vile coming from their guest’s mouth. She looked up at her brother, who returned her glance with pleading eyes.
Herminius spoke. “We thank the gods for watching over our brother and placing him safely within our walls, Lucilius. And it seems that Justina is destined to follow in his, yours, and Atilius’ footsteps. She quickly bested me in our last sparring session.”
“Yes, Justina will be quite the warrior, without man or mission,” Atilius jumped in. “Living here, I’m sure, until the day she finally succumbs to foolish goals that will never come to be, or chooses the life of a Vestal Virgin.”
The look Justina flashed Atilius would have made the demons in Tartarus cower. Fabricius squeezed her leg a second time, only on this occasion, it did not have the same effect. “Oh dear brother,” she said to Atilius, “better it would be to die alone for a just cause than to be unworthy of companionship. Lucky for you, there will always be slaves to satisfy your uncontrollable lust. And if they are gone, there is always your own hand.”
“Justina!” Alba yelled.
Herminius spit out his food.
“Such talk is unbecoming of a proper Roman woman.” Alba continued, “Sometimes I think it would be better if your tongue was snatched from your mouth. I’m sure a full day of chores tomorrow will slow that tongue of yours.”
Atilius smiled.
Justina had crossed the line, and she knew it. She looked down at her plate and then up at
Fabricius who was shaking his head.
“You could learn a great deal from your brothers, Justina,” her father spoke up. “Fabricius does as commanded and has attained a centurion rank faster than most. Although I do believe I was a year younger when I got that title,” Livius smiled at Fabricius. “Herminius’ command of words far out favors swordplay. Rome does well having both types of men. One must learn when to use the sword and when to use the tongue.”
“Your father speaks the truth, Justina,” Alba said. “Rome has legions of soldiers. It has no need for your sword. The day is not long away to introduce you officially to society and with the gods help, find a suitable man. I do not see any currency in favoring the sword or holding close confidence in slaves. Men would find that unbecoming of a proper Roman woman.”
There was that phrase again.
Lucilius jumped in, seemingly unable to resist. “Some yet find assurance with their slaves and that favoritism is alarming,” he said. “I find it best to shackle them tightly. Unless, of course, it hinders their service.”
Just then, the second course was brought in, and the room grew quiet. Justina sat still, trying to focus on the dish in front of her. Alba watched the motions of the slaves. Justina knew she was running a checklist in her head, making sure every task was completed as expected. Livius looked over at his daughter. Their eyes meet briefly. His face was not one of anger but of confusion. She imagined he was wondering what to do with her.
Atilius did little to hide a smug grin. But his smile was quickly dispatched when his eyes were met by Fabricius. Lucilius was not paying attention to the family at all. Instead, he stared at the slaves, intently watching every move each one made. When a female slave placed a dish in front of him, his body tightened, and he involuntarily pulled away.
“Is all well?” Livius asked.
Lucilius was wide-eyed. “Apologies,” he said, “but the sight of slaves has made me uneasy. May I ask pardon and retire to my room?”
“Lucilius is correct,” Atilius added. “Too many slaves have extended their welcome beyond reproach. If it was not for our centurion, my prowess with a gladius, even Justina’s weak abilities, thoughts of escape could likely fancy the desires of the slaves within these very walls. Father, you were once a soldier. Do I not speak the truth when I say we would slaughter these ingrates before they even considered drawing a knife or sword against us? Would it not be best to keep them chained, as most Romans do?”
This was getting out of hand. While she did not agree with it, Justina could certainly understand Lucilius’ apprehension toward slaves. However, Atilius was simply displaying bravado in the sight of a friend. Justina looked to her father, willing him to speak up, to do something.
Atilius’ words had apparently done the trick. “Perhaps it’s best if you accompany Lucilius to his room, Atilius,” Livius said in the voice of a commander. “It would appear you have become over-agitated from the week’s events. Take time to clear your head.”
Atilius turned to his mother looking for comfort but received none. It was Justina’s turn to flash the smug smile. As she hoped, it infuriated Atilius. He stood up sharply, forcing his chair backward. Livius sent him a warning glare.
Lucilius, placed his hand on Atilius’ arm. “Apologies, Livius,” he said. “Atilius and I will take our leave.”
Livius nodded, but his face remained hard.
Fabricius watched as the two men left. “Perhaps a tug on the leash of both Lucilius and Atilius will hold them at bay before they rush to error, father. Cato is a trusted slave who watches over this house. Neither he, nor any of the others have given us reason not to trust their actions. Antonia tends to Justina more in the manner of a sister than a slave.”
Alba slammed her fork down onto her plate so hard that it made Justina jump.
“Never say that again, Fabricius,” Alba bellowed. “A slave will never be a relation to any in our family.”
Livius ignored his wife and spoke to his son. “I foresee a furtive plot brewing between those two. I will ask Cato to keep a close watch over them. They will avoid initiating a fight with him, regardless of their personal convictions.” He addressed the rest of the family. “That being said, if any of you notice anything disconcerting, make haste in reporting it to me.” He then turned to Alba. “I am still the head of this household,” he said purposefully, “and until something changes, my word, my will.”
With the sting of his mother’s words still fresh, Justina leaned into Fabricius. “You seem more concerned about slaves than I,” she whispered, “yet you kill them on command.”
“Do us all a favor, sister, and fill your mouth with bread, so that it may prevent you from running it so,” he said back, louder and stronger than the whisper he received. “Such a trait may make you more appealing in your search for a man.”
Now everyone at the table was angry.
Chapter 11
When Braccius entered the room, Caesar was sitting at his desk, surrounded by parchment. “Hail, Caesar!” he said and slammed his fist against his metal chest plate before extending it outward.
Caesar looked up. “Yes Braccius, come in.”
Braccius walked over to the desk and stood at attention, waiting to be addressed. He was still in uniform, gladius by his side, but without his helmet. This was not a place he liked or wanted to be. In fact, he could already feel the sweat forming in the palms of his hands and backs of his knees. His pits would be next. Braccius was much more comfortable in front of his troops or on the field of battle.
Caesar reviewed several documents, one at a time. He seemed to be in no hurry to speak to Braccius. It did little to relieve Braccius’ apprehension. As he stood there, he ran through everything he had done that Caesar could have discovered. By the time Caesar turned his attention to his Legatus, Braccius was floating in sweat.
“I have inquiry about a certain centurion,” Caesar said.
“I take pride in knowing all men under my command, Caesar, but I would need you to be a bit more specific. Of whom do you speak?”
“One involved in a recent encounter. The centurion you were on patrol with earlier this week. He stood by your side when you captured the four slaves.”
Braccius knew immediately of whom Caesar spoke. “That centurion’s name is Fabricius.”
“Tell me of him.”
“He’s a good man.” Braccius said, trying his best not to act unnerved. He wasn’t sure why Caesar wanted to know about Fabricius, why his name was coming up now, but he decided it was best to show the man in the best light. “He has risen quickly and is most astute. He comes well reared from a noble family and has served Rome faithfully for seven years. He is evolving as a leader and is quick on his feet, but follows orders well and is quite skilled with a sword.”
Caesar returned to his documents, moving them from one position on his desk to the next, looking at each only briefly. Braccius was left to wonder about the reason behind the inquiry. Then Caesar spoke unexpectedly. “Can he best you?”
Braccius smiled and almost chuckled. “We have sparred some. He has failed as of yet to best me, though he continues to improve.”
“I see,” Caesar said and looked once again to his papers.
Braccius took a deep breath. “If I may inquire Caesar, Fabricius is a loyal soldier to Rome. Does a concern exist?”
Caesar took his time before answering. “Most likely not. Though tales of his slave killing seem somewhat exaggerated. It had the mark of a more skilled swordsman.” He stood up, leaned on his desk and locked eyes with Braccius. “Someone of a higher rank.”
It was becoming very clear that Braccius had made a mistake when he ordered his centurion to take responsibility for killing the slave at the aqueduct. “Apologies, Caesar. It was indeed my sword that parted the dog from his earthly bonds. It was, I’m afraid, a task of simple pleasure, much as I saw in your own eyes when you did the same that afternoon.”
Caesar walked over to Braccius and placed an arm aro
und his shoulder. Braccius stiffened. “Relax, my friend,” Caesar said and patted him on his chest. “Your loyalty is without question. You, and your sword, have served me well over the years. What you do on patrol is of little concern to me.” Braccius let out an audible breath.
Caesar removed his arm and returned to the other side of his desk. “However, ignoble boasting for a task not performed does give me pause.” Braccius’ relief was cut short, and he stiffened a second time. Caesar continued, “Tell me, this Fabra…”
“Fabricius.”
“Fabricius,” he repeated. “Is he a braggart?”
“It is not a trait I have noticed in him. I would be surprised to hear he made such claims to other than as I had commanded.”
Caesar stood in front of his chair and returned his attention to the parchment before him. “Tell me of his family. Who are they? Do you know them? More importantly, have I heard of them?”
“Fabricius is of house Livius, a most favored butcher of Rome.”
Caesar suddenly looked up. “This centurion’s father is Livius? I know this name.”
“I am not surprised, Caesar. Livius was once a soldier himself under Pompey’s rule. He often shares the best cuts for the legion. I doubt though that his meats have made their way to the senate or your plates.”
Caesar lifted his head. Though he gazed forward, his eyes were clearly seeing the past. He stayed there for a while, then finally spoke. “Yes, I know this name. Livius. He once held the heart of Servilia.”
“That must have been a long time ago, Caesar. He is married with four children, the oldest being Fabricius, who is well into his twenties. I’m certain he has no claim on Servilia.”
Caesar was suddenly and harshly brought back to the present. “You think I am concerned with a past affair?” he barked. “When Caesar beds a woman, they lose all thoughts of any other.”